The Christmas Child. Linda Goodnight

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СКАЧАТЬ counter. “I’ll give Howard Prichard a piece of my mind and he’ll know the reason why. Silliest thing I ever heard of. Jerk a terrified child from a perfectly fine place and take him to live with a bunch of strangers.”

      “We’re strangers, too,” Kade said mildly. Seeing her riled up cooled him down even though he appreciated her fire.

      “Don’t sass, nephew. What are you going to do about this?” With a harrumph, she folded her arms across the front of her overalls. Sheba, the peacemaker, nudged her knee.

      Kade imitated her crossed arms and slouched against the refrigerator. “Find his family.”

      “I expected as much. Good to hear it.” Ida June gave the dog an absent pat. Then as if she’d just realized someone else occupied the kitchen, she said, “Hello, Sophie. You selling cookies?”

      Sophie set her cup to one side. “It’s that time of year.”

      “Put me down for five dozen. Did you get this nephew of mine to buy any?”

      The pretty mouth quivered. “A dozen.”

      Kade was tempted to roll his eyes because he knew what was to come from his incorrigible aunt.

      “He’ll have to do better than that. Stay after him.”

      “I plan to.”

      “I’m still in the room,” he said mildly. The refrigerator kicked on, the motor vibrating against his tense back. “The least you can do is wait until I’m gone to gang up on me.”

      Aunt Ida June gave him a mock-sour look. “Crybaby. Is Sophie staying for supper? I made that lasagna last night and you didn’t eat enough of it to feed a gnat. I refuse to feed it to Sheba.” When the dog cocked her head, Ida June amended. “Maybe a bite. Well, is Sophie staying or not?”

      Kade arched an inquiring eyebrow in Sophie’s direction. He didn’t mind if she stayed for dinner. Might be interesting to know her better.

      He waited for her answer. An insistent, perplexing hope nudged up inside him.

      Sophie rose from the table and pushed in the chair, as polite and tidy as he would have expected. Kade liked what he saw, and not just the fact that she was pretty as sunshine and looked good in a sweater. He liked the feminine way her fingertips glided along the top of the chair rung before straightening the hem of her blouse. And the way she met Ida June’s gaze with straight-on, clear and honest eye contact.

      A student of human nature, Kade could spot pretense in a second. There was nothing false about Sophie Bartholomew.

      He hoped she’d stay for dinner.

      “Thank you, Miss Ida June,” she said. “But I have to say no. I promised to drop by my dad’s this evening and help put up his Christmas decorations.”

      Kade’s ulcer mocked him. All right, so she had a life. Other than Davey, she had no reason to stick around here.

      “You’re a good daughter,” Ida June said, smacking her lips together with satisfaction. “You’ll make a fine wife.”

      “I have a great dad.” If Sophie thought a thing about Ida June’s blatant “wife” remark, she didn’t let on. Apparently, the citizens of Redemption were accustomed to his aunt’s habit of saying exactly what she thought.

      Sophie took her coffee cup to the sink and turned on the warm water. Above the whoosh, she asked, “How’s the stable coming along?”

      “Leave that cup in the sink. Kade’s gotta be useful for something around here.” Ida June shouldered Kade to the side and yanked a casserole from the refrigerator. She banged the sturdy glass dish on the counter and dug in the cabinets for foil and a spatula. The woman slammed and banged in the kitchen the same way she did on a job. With purpose and sass.

      “You’ll take your dad some lasagna.” From Sophie’s quiet acceptance, Kade figured she knew not to argue with Ida June. “Stable’s nearly done. Would have been if Kade had been there. Makes me so aggravated not to be able to carry a four-by-eight sheet of plywood by myself.” She flexed an arm muscle and gave it a whap. “Puny thing.”

      “Nobody would accuse you of being puny, Ida June.” Kade moved to Sophie’s side and reached for the coffee mug.

      She scooted but didn’t turn loose of the cup. She did, however, flash him that sunny smile, only this one carried a hint of his aunt’s sass. “I can do it.”

      “Yeah?” he arched a brow.

      She arched one, too. “Yeah.”

      Was the cookie lady flirting with him?

      They jockeyed for position for a few seconds while Kade examined the interesting simmer of energy buzzing around the pair of them like honeybees in a glass jar, both dangerous and sweet. Danger he understood, but sweet Sophie didn’t know what she was bumping up against.

      Ten minutes later, he walked her out the front door, leaving Ida June to heat a spicy casserole that would torture him again tonight.

      He opened the car door for Sophie, stood with one hand on the handle as she slid gracefully onto the seat. At some point in the day she’d changed her clothes from a long blue sweater to a dark skirt and white blouse. She looked the part of a teacher. Weird that he’d notice. “Don’t worry about the kid.”

      Keys rattled as she dug in the pocket of a black jacket. “I won’t. But I will pray for him.”

      His teeth tightened. “You pray. I’ll find answers.”

      A cloud passing overhead shadowed her usual cheer. “We can do both.”

      “Right.” God listened to people like Sophie. Kade still believed that much.

      She started the engine and yet he remained in the open car door, wanting to say something reassuring and not knowing how. Life, he knew, did not always turn out the way it should.

      “Kade?” she said.

      “Yeah?”

      She reached out and placed her hand on his sleeve. Her warmth, or maybe the thought of it, seeped through the thick cotton.

      “Everything will be all right.” Her gray eyes smiled, serious but teasing, too. “I promise.”

      The tables had turned. She was the one doing the reassuring. For two beats he even believed her.

      Then he said, “Don’t make promises,” and shut the door.

      “Dad, have you ever met Kade McKendrick?” Sophie stood on a stepladder propped against her father’s brick house, feeding tiny blue lightbulbs into equally tiny sockets. Next to her, on another stepladder, her dad attached strands of Christmas lights to the gabled eaves. “Ida June’s nephew? Yes, I’ve run into him a time or two. Why?”

      “What was your impression?”

      “Polite. Watchful. A man with something on his mind.”

      “Hmm.” СКАЧАТЬ